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narcissistic daydreamer who pretended that he would one day be successful.
    “Yeah,” Mason said. “I think all artists are heroes.”
    “Wow,” Chris laughed. “That’s a little grandiose. I dunno if I’d call myself an artist.”
    “Sure you are,” Mason said softly, his voice a growl.
    Mason’s hand rested on Chris’ upper thigh, centimeters from his cock.  Mason could feel the warmth below it and unexpectedly, just that heat was beginning to turn him on. Reflexology was always a very intimate connection with somebody, just like any form of touch-based therapy or healing. However, Mason’s connection with Chris felt so good, so soothing, so tender, that his cock was responding as surely as if Chris was a gorgeous girl.
    For Chris, the way Mason slid his hand s up and down, from the base of his hand to the tip of his fingers, then back down to his wrist, felt better than any foreplay he’d ever experienced. It was so intimate, so sensitive, yet so masculine. No one had ever done this for him before, and Tim hated whenever Mason would ask him if he’d give him a little massage. In fact, Chris realized, true moments of tenderness - not just lust or affection - but real, visceral, intentional, mindful tenderness, were something he had never experienced. Until perhaps this moment.
    Mason was miraculous. A healer. Chris let out a little sigh, feeling all his stress and unhappiness, anxiety and misery , expelled on his breath.
    “God , I needed this so bad.” Chris said.
    Mason grinned crookedly, “Glad you feel that way,” he said.
    “I like making people feel good,” Mason said, splaying all of Chris’s fingers until they popped.
    One. At. A. Time.
    Chris made a tiny gasp and then let out a long sigh. And that sound of total pleasure and release turned Mason on more than he’d been turned on in months. Even more than by a woman almost ready to climax. That surprised him, scared him, but also thrilled him enough to want more.
    It was getting hot and Chris didn’t know if it was how arousing the hand massage was or the warmth of the daylight flooding into Mason’s living room.
    “Now, breathe,” Mason instructed, pressing his hand on Chris' heart. It felt so firm but secure, and Chris exhaled as if he’d never exhaled before. There was something about Mason’s touch that felt so healing, like he had a heavy weight lifted off him.
    “Good,” Mason said, sliding from his elbow to his wrist.
    He almost felt like crying, actually. Chris thought of the months of tension and heartbreak with his ex that had been pent up for so long. No one had ever done anything like this for him before. It was so sweet and thoughtful, erotic but meaningful.
    Chris’ cock was swelling , and there was no denying it: he couldn’t help himself, and as Mason moved closer, the back of his hand rested against his swollen, hard cock.
    Chris threw his head back in ecstasy, biting his lip and Mason took to the cue to massage at his wrist more.
    “Fuck, wow . Ugh. That’s amazing...where’s that connect to?” Chris asked, his eyes closed enjoying the moment.
    Mason hesitated a moment, then said bluntly, “Your cock.”
    His voice was low, powerful.
    Chris' eyes flashed open and met Mason’s hazel ones. Neither said a word, but the body heat and passion between the two of them was undeniable. They stared back and forth a long while, their lips parted. Then Chris looked at Mason’s full mouth, so moist, so full, so thick, so delicious. He wanted Mason’s lips like he’d never wanted to kiss a man before in his life, and he could tell by the steady, hungry look in Mason’s eyes that he wanted nothing less.
    Mason let out a low groan of a sigh when there was a noise outside: a child screaming and a woman shouting back; then a pounding knock at the door.
    “Shit,” Mason said, stashing the lube under the couch. “It’s my ex.”
     
     

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CHAPTER 11
     
    T he knock at the door